


Addicted to the Way We Crash and Burn

by MCRmyGeneral



Series: Words I Never Said [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian, Denial, Domestic Violence, Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nurse!Mickey, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Semi-Public Sex, They're hot when they're bloody, Violence, baseball field, kind of, refusal of medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:32:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCRmyGeneral/pseuds/MCRmyGeneral
Summary: "I need the shit-talkin', bitch-slappin' piece of South Side trash I fell for."Baseball field sex scene from 5x10.





	Addicted to the Way We Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tumblr anon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tumblr+anon).



> Title is from World Around Me by Escape the Fate.

Ian sighed and flexed his burned hand, wincing when the blisters stretched and pulled. He had just wanted to feel something, anything. All he'd felt since he started taking pills is emptiness. Pain was better than nothing, right? He closed his hand again and hissed. Maybe it wasn't.

Nothing made sense anymore. He couldn't even manage to get excited when Mickey had tried to blow him that morning. He didn't feel happy, or even sad really. He leaned his head back against the wall. He could deal with everything else being muted. Not Mickey. Mickey had been the sun in the center of Ian's universe since he was fifteen. Ian's heart used to skip when Mickey would walk into the fucking room. Now, Ian couldn't even smile at him. It was almost like all his memories had been erased, like Mickey was a stranger to him now. And the way he was acting didn’t help. Mickey wasn’t meant to be a fucking caretaker; it wasn’t him. He was a ‘suck it up’ kind of guy, not ‘you poor baby’. He didn’t seem like himself lately, just like Ian didn’t.

Tears gathered in Ian's eyes as he thought. He couldn't handle Mickey changing and falling away from him. He needed to save him, save them. He needed to bring himself back to where his memories of the old Mickey was strongest. He hopped up from his bed and ripped off his work shirt, throwing on the next shirt he found in his dresser. He was on a mission now, and he wasn't stopping until he got what he wanted; his boyfriend, his relationship back the way it used to be.

****

“Hey. I didn't know which Bs to get, so I just got all the fucking Bs,” Mickey explained as he pulled bottle after bottle of vitamins from the pharmacy bag on the counter. Ian rolled his eyes at him. “I got B-complex, super B-complex, B-12, B-6- Whoa,” He set a hand on Ian's arm, nodding to the bandages around his hand. “The hell happened to your hand?”

Ian ignored him, moving around the kitchen, searching through the junk drawer for a knife.

“Ian, hey. What are you doing?”

Ian still didn't answer, turning to open the fridge. Mickey finally set a forceful hand on Ian's shoulder, which made his chest get tight. It was a glimpse of the old Mickey, the one Ian was trying to get back.

“What is going on?”

“We're going out,” Ian explained simply.

“Did a doctor take care of that?” Mickey asked, pointing to Ian's hand.

Ian rolled his eyes again. “Come on, Mickey,” He said teasingly.

“You can't go anywhere unless you get that looked at, man. Come on.”

Ian sighed. He loved Mickey more than anything, but he wasn't a fan of Dr. Milkovich. He got that Mickey was trying to help, trying to be as supportive as he could be in Ian's rough times. But being fussed over made Ian feel weird, and no matter how many times he told Mickey that he was fine, that he didn't need anything, Mickey still tried to baby him. He wanted the hard-ass Mickey back, and this was the only way he could get through to him. He smirked.

“Okay, listen,” He said firmly, tossing a couple cans of beer into his backpack, “Either you can stay here and jerk off into your vitamins or you can come with me.” He elbowed the fridge closed and threw the backpack over his shoulder. “It's your call.”

He smirked once more and turned to walk away. He didn't get halfway through the living room before he heard Mickey walking after him.

“Where are we going?” Mickey asked impatiently, pulling his coat on and following Ian out into the crisp Autumn air.

“Don't worry about it.”

“Don't tell me not to worry about it, Ian. What the fuck happened to your hand?”

“Nothing. Sammi took care of it.”

“Oh, _did_ she? What happened?”

“I burnt myself at work,” Ian explained, walking hard toward the old baseball field.

“How bad?”

“It's fine, Mickey.”

“Why do you have to be so fucking-” He cut himself off, and Ian turned back, raising an eyebrow.

“So what?”

Mickey smiled. “Nothing.”

Ian sighed and turned back around, walking a little faster.

Mickey cocked an eyebrow when he saw that they had been walking toward the baseball field.  
“What made you wanna come here?” He asked Ian, who shrugged. 

“Good memories,” He said with a smile, and Mickey smiled, too. “Hey, give me the bag,” He instructed, helping Ian up and over the fence. He followed him, hopping down beside the dugout. “Jesus, haven't been here since that time we banged,” Mickey laughed.

Ian smirked. That's exactly the memory that drove him here. He was glad that Mickey remembered it, too.

“Let's do some pull-ups,” Ian offered.

“Your hand, man,” Mickey reminded him, hoping to deter him and failing as Ian ignored him once again.

Ian managed a pull-up and a half before the sting in his hand and the burn in his arms stopped him. He sighed when he hit the ground. “I'm out of shape,” He said, hoping that he didn't sound as sad as he felt. Even in times when he didn't have anything else going for him, Ian had always been an peak physical condition. He used to be able to run a six-minute mile, do a hundred push-ups at a time and do sit-ups for hours. Now a simple pull-up had his lungs burning. This fucking disease was taking away all that was good about him, everything he loved. He shook his head and grabbed a can of beer from his backpack. “Shotgun,” He said to Mickey, pulling the knife from his pocket.

Mickey shook his head. “No, no. Look, you're not supposed to drink on lithium. It makes your blood fucking toxic, and it gets you hammered in like two seconds flat.”

Ian rolled his eyes. He was sick of this. He wanted his old boyfriend back, and he knew what he'd have to do to get it.

“You can't--”

Mickey's words were cut off as Ian threw a hard jab, his fist colliding with Mickey's mouth. “What the _fuck_ , Ian?” He yelled, spitting blood onto the dirt.

“I'm sick of your whiny, pussy crap,” Ian said coldly. “I don't need a fucking caretaker, all right? I need the shit-talking, bitch-slapping piece of South Side trash I fell for. Where is he? The fuck is he, Mickey?” He goaded the boy, pushing him roughly until Mickey finally pushed back.

“Fuck you!” He threw at Ian, shoving him harshly, which was exactly what the redhead had wanted. “And fuck me for giving a shit, you prick,” Mickey snarled, wiping the blood from his mouth and spitting more out.

Ian scoffed. “Give all the shits you want, but the next time my dick is limp from all the meds, don't go all, "Oh, it's okay, wah wah." Just suck it harder, you faggot,” He teased, knowing that if nothing else would get through to Mickey, the last word would.

“You motherfucker!” Mickey yelled, grabbing Ian by his jacket and hitting him.

Ian smiled in grisly glee as he and Mickey exchanged blows. Anger was better than overprotectiveness. Ian liked Mickey better this way; he reminded Ian of how he used to be, what Ian fell in love with. He knew he had pushed him too far, but he was finally reverting back to the hard-ass he still was deep down.

The two fell to the ground in the middle of the field, still throwing punches and knees. Ian could feel blood dripping from his forehead and mouth, and when he could manage to actually see his face, Mickey was bloodied, too. He felt bad for hurting his boyfriend, but not that bad. He was happy here, rolling around with Mickey, their hands around each other’s throat. It was the first time he’d genuinely felt normal in weeks. Ian felt the flame in his chest grow every time Mickey’s fists hit him, which both worried and excited him. He was suddenly reminded of his first time fucking Mickey, how the two had started with throwing punches and had ended with giving each other orgasms. He wanted that passion back, that fire he used to feel when Mickey would touch him. He was feeling it now, even though they were still wrestling.

They finally fell apart, Ian coughing from the lack of oxygen and Mickey groaning. He stumbled to his feet and walked back over to where his backpack was, shooting Mickey a knowing glance as he joined him. Mickey seemed to understand, and had taken the beer Ian had offered him without protest. Ian stabbed his own beer and sucked it down, smiling when he saw Mickey throw him the bird.

Both boys threw their cans to the ground, catching each other’s eyes when they did.

“Fuck,” Mickey swore with a smile, and they both started giggling. “Out of shape, my dick,” He said when he stopped laughing. “Kicked my ass.”

Ian smiled. “Please, I sucker-punched you.”

“You always were kind of a pussy,” Mickey teasingly threw at Ian, who smiled, then frowned.

“That was the first time I've felt anything since, uh…” He trailed off. When he looked over, Mickey was looking back at him intently. Mickey understood, Ian could tell. He finally got it that this overbearing person he was being lately wasn’t doing either of them any favors. This wasn’t them. Ian didn’t need anyone taking care of him, and Mickey wasn’t used to caring about people, so he’d fallen into it too intensely. Mickey nodded softly, brushing the beer-soaked hair out of Ian’s face.

“You look like a fucking wet rat,” He laughed, leaning in and kissing Ian softly, but intensely. Mickey licked the blood from his lips, and Ian moaned. This was how they should be. They fought like enemies, then fucked like old lovers. They had a system, and Ian was all too happy to fall back into it. “Take the fuckin’ jacket off,” Mickey almost growled against Ian’s lips, pushing at his coat. Ian’s stomach flipped in the best way at Mickey’s tone. He sounded like the Mickey Ian had fallen in love with again.

“Watch the hand,” Ian warned, letting Mickey pull his jacket off and returning the favor.

Mickey grabbed him and kissed him again, less sweetly and more harshly, unbuckling his belt and ripping it off.

Ian smiled against Mickey’s lips and walked him backwards until they were in the dugout, hidden from wandering eyes and cold Chicago wind.

Ian dropped to his knees, licking and kissing at Mickey’s stomach as he undressed him.

“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey moaned as Ian pulled his jeans and boxers down, sucking a bruise into his hip. Mickey fell to his knees too, pushing Ian down to the ground on top of their shirts and leaning over him. He held himself up with one hand and pulled Ian’s dick out with his other.

Ian pushed him off roughly, shoving him toward the bench. Mickey took the hint, leaning over it so Ian could push into him.

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian growled, thrusting maybe a little too rough, but Mickey didn’t mind. He dug his fingertips into the old splintering wood, grunting with Ian’s every thrust. “I almost forgot how good you feel.”

Mickey smiled proudly before clenching down around Ian, which made him gasp sharply. “God, not fair, Mickey,” He whimpered, his hips stuttering.

Mickey laughed sinfully, and Ian leaned forward to kiss and bite his shoulders, painting his pale skin with angry red welts.

“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey breathed, biting his lip as he came hard in a puddle on the ground.

Ian shuddered and climaxed soon after, digging his nails harshly into Mickey’s shoulder.

“Jesus,” He panted, pulling out of Ian and falling to the ground.

Mickey laughed and joined him, breathing heavily.

A tension settled between them, like neither knew what to say, which was ridiculous. They’d been using sex to settle awkwardness between them for years; it was what they did best.

“Listen,” Mickey said finally, his voice soft and a little embarrassed, “I’m not trying to baby you, or coddle you, or smother you. I was just trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t need a nurse, Mickey. I appreciate it, I really do. I get that you’re just trying to take care of me. But I need to adjust, and this is just too different. If I’m stuck with this shit, I need to ease into it. I can’t change everything all at once. And I need _something_ to stay the same, something to remind me that I’m still the same person I always was, something that’s always made me happy. It needs to be you, Mick. You’ve always been the same; mean and tough and… Abrasive,” Ian said with a smile, and MIckey cocked an eyebrow, “I need that Mickey back.”

Mickey nodded. “I got it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ian said, shaking his head.

Mickey nodded again. “Hey, I just… I want to make sure you know that no matter what happens to you or to me, I'm not running away. I've made that mistake too many times in the past.”

“Since when do you get emotional after sex?” Ian teased, and Mickey pushed him playfully.

“Fuck you, man. I just…” He blew out a breath. Ian rolled over towards Mickey, leaning up on his elbow.

“You mean it?” He asked softly, a gleam in his eyes that Mickey hadn't seen in a long time. Vulnerability. Mickey hadn't seen it since Ian had walked out of his bedroom nearly two years ago.

Mickey mimicked Ian, leaning up on his elbow. He set an uncharacteristically gentle hand on Ian's cheek.

“I promise.”

Ian let his eyes slip closed, leaning into Mickey's hand softly. Before he could open his eyes again, Mickey's lips were on his, soft and warm and sweet.

Mickey pulled back after a second, smiling gently.

“I love you.”

Ian smiled back, the dried blood on his face cracking. “I love you, too,” He said with a grin.

Mickey chuckled once and leaned back in for another kiss, more intense and heated. His lips moved with Ian's, the taste of blood and beer in both their mouths, tongues licking away salt and malt. Mickey slowly pushed Ian onto his back, moving to crawl on top of him. He stuck a leg between Ian's and moaned into his mouth.

“Again?” Ian mumbled with a smile against Mickey's lip's.

Mickey shrugged. “Why not take advantage of the situation?”

A guilt settled in Ian's stomach. He knew the meaning behind Mickey's words. What he had meant was _You might not be able to get it up next time we wanna fuck_. God, if this disease wasn't bad enough, now he couldn't even fuck his boyfriend whenever he wanted. He worked to push those thoughts out of his mind. If he could manage to get hard enough to fuck Mickey again, he wasn't gonna waste it. 

Ian rolled his hips, his steadily-hardening dick poking against Mickey's thigh.

Mickey bit his lip and kissed Ian again, kissing a line down to Ian's dick and sinking down, wrapping him in warmth and making the redhead shiver beneath him. He hardened in Mickey's mouth, but Mickey didn't relent, continuing to bob his head and lick soft stripes up Ian's erection.

Ian gasped and arched his back, accidently pushing his dick against the back of Mickey's throat. Mickey gagged once and pinched Ian's leg.

“Ow! Okay, I'm sorry!” He laughed, and Mickey smiled.

“Jesus, Mick,” Ian moaned when Mickey tightened his lips just a bit. He sunk his hands into Mickey's hair, fingertips rubbing at his scalp. “Come here,” He instructed, tugging gently at Mickey's dark locks, but Mickey didn't budge.

“Mickey, don't you- _fuck_!” He gasped. “Mickey, stop, I'm gonna cum!” He warned, tilting his head back.

Mickey chuckled and kept at it, sucking Ian skillfully until the redhead was shooting down his throat.

Ian shuddered, panting and gasping as Mickey sat up and wiped his mouth. When Ian had caught his breath, he sat up. “I thought you wanted to fuck again.”

Mickey shook his head with a smirk. “Nope. Owed you a blowjob from this morning, remember?”

Ian chuckled and Mickey leaned back down, kissing him sloppily.

“Now put some clothes on. You're gonna catch a cold,” Mickey teased, slapping Ian's leg as he stood to find his boxers.

Ian just laid there, laughing at his boyfriend. Mickey was still that South Side trash he'd always been, just a little smoother around the edges these days. And when Ian thought about it, he decided that he liked Mickey this way. The Mickey he'd fallen into immediate lust with was amazing, but that was a quick-burning match. No, their relationship these days was more consistent, like a candle burning slow but strong. This was the kind of relationship that grew into families, homes.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” Mickey asked, and Ian realized that he was staring dreamily into space.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

Mickey cocked an eyebrow, but held his hand out for Ian to grab, hauling him to his feet. He handed Ian his boxers and kissed his temple. Ian smiled and pulled on his clothes, sneaking looks over at Mickey while he did. The buzz of the beer settled in over him, and by the time he was fully clothed, he was stumbling around the dugout.

“Told ya,” Mickey smirked, wrapping an arm around Ian's waist and pulling him close.

“Yeah, you're always right,” Ian rolled his eyes as Mickey helped him up over the fence. Ian smirked when Mickey's hand ‘subtly’ slipped from the back of his thigh up over his ass. He threw that smirk over his shoulder to see Mickey wearing one just like it.

“Stop groping me,” Ian said halfheartedly.

Mickey rolled his eyes as he scaled the fence after Ian, dropping lithely to the ground beside him. “You’ve never complained before.”

Ian pushed Mickey against the fence and kissed him once more, hard and rough. Mickey chased the kiss after Ian pulled away.

“Feelin’ better?” He asked, breathless.

Ian smiled drunkenly. “Feelin’ _somethin’_.”

Mickey chuckled and threw his arm back around Ian’s waist to steady him.

The sky was already getting dark as they made their way home. Ian pressed himself into Mickey's side, humming absentmindedly.

Mickey furrowed his brow. “What are you humming?”

A blush crept over Ian's cheeks. “Uh, nothing.”

“Is that… Pat Benetar?” Mickey asked with a smile.

Ian's blush intensified.

“Are you humming Love Is A Battlefield?” He asked in a kind of embarrassed and amazed awe.

“Yeah,” Ian said defensively. “So? It was playing in the diner this morning and it's been stuck in my head all day.”

Mickey chuckled. His boyfriend could be so cute sometimes. He held up the hand that wasn't settled on Ian's hip. “I'm not judging. It's a decent tune.”

Ian rolled his eyes, assuming Mickey was patronizing him like he did sometimes even without noticing it. He set a frown on his face, and the two walked another three blocks in silence.

“ _You're beggin’ me to go, then making me stay_ ,” Mickey began suddenly, under his breath until he caught Ian smirking at him. “Fuck you! Now it's stuck in _my_ head,” He grumbled.

Ian leaned further into Mickey's side. “ _Why do you hurt me so bad_?” He supplied the next line, crooning to his boyfriend, who blushed. “ _It would help me to know-_ ”

“ _Do I stand in your way?_ ” Mickey continued with another roll of his eyes.

“ _Or am I the best thing you've had_?” The duo sang in harmony, both falling into fits of laughter at themselves.

Ian smiled contentedly as he watched Mickey sing, getting more and more into it as the song went on. They weren't perfect. But nobody's relationship was perfect. Fiona and Steve’s wasn't. Neither was Lip and Mandy's, or Kev and V’s. Certainly not Frank and Monica's. But (for the most part), they were all couples that worked well together, that genuinely loved each other despite the hard times. He and Mickey were no different. They still fought, sometimes about important things, but usually little shit that wasn't worth the breath they wasted. They each had things they disliked, about themselves and each other. But they never attempted to be perfect. They were just them. 

And when Ian really thought about it, he didn't need a perfect storybook romance, a Romeo to his Juliet, a Rose to his Jack. He was just fine with someone that would drunkenly belt out 80’s power pop tunes with him while walking down the street; someone who didn't take life too seriously and Mickey was exactly that.

Besides, a sweet hearted bad boy with tattoos was better than a knight in shining armor any day.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of feel like I rushed through this one and I don't feel that it's my best work, but I'm not gonna waste it and not post it. I have the final fics planned out, and I apologize, but I won't be taking any more requests for this series.
> 
> However, if you have a prompt for a standalone, let me know [here](http://ieroween1031.tumblr.com/ask)!


End file.
